Night Terrors
by The Lady Yuki
Summary: Being sick is hard. Being a bystander is worse.


All right…here's a quickie. And by quickie I mean I got almost all of this written in one day. I wanted to contrast with the last story I finished, which took me months, and see if I could come up with something just as good. So tell me what you think, m'kay? ^-^

Night Terrors

"Daddy…"

"Shh, he's not here. C'mon, wake up!"

It was barely past two in the morning, and the little boy was terrified. His black-haired friend was soaked with sweat and hot to the touch; yet he shivered and moaned, cowering from things only he could see. "Daddy, Daddy, come back!"

"Stop it, Ashy," the older of the two whispered, seizing him by the shoulders and shaking him a little; he'd seen people do this on TV. Every time someone was lying there and not moving, all it took was one little shake and they'd get up and walk away like nothing happened.

But Ash only cried harder, jerking weakly away from his grip. Tears were leaking out from behind his tightly closed eyelids now, and his skinny little body shook violently, wracked with chills and harsh sobs.

Gary sat there, with his small hands curling into fists as he watched, and for a brief but horrible moment he wanted to yell at his friend. _What's the matter with you? You were fine earlier! _

And it was perfectly true. Ash had to have been fine if he could eat three helpings of meat over rice at the dinner table. Watching him wolf all of it down had left Gary with only enough appetite for one bowl. And then he had slipped and called the younger boy a little pig. Ash flared up at once, and both of them had been sent to bed without dessert, where they promptly settled down with their backs to each other.

But now, as much as he wanted to be - no, as much as he _told_ himself he wanted to be - Gary just couldn't be mad at him anymore. Instead his brain was whirling in panic - what was he supposed to do? Ash was shivering, yet he shouldn't be…he kept kicking the blankets away whenever the older boy tried to cover him, and his skin burned against the palms of Gary's hands, even through the cotton pajama top, when he tried vainly again to shake him back to reality. It didn't make any sense!

And then suddenly the younger boy moved - shooting straight up to a sitting postion with no more than a strangled yell as a warning, and suddenly everything was warm, wet, and reeked with a foul stench. Gary gave a shout, almost tumbling off the bed in shock; whatever it was, he was covered in it, and it was _awful. _He stared wide-eyed and trembling as his friend gagged and coughed before falling back limply onto the bed.

The door burst open then, and a red-haired woman came hurrying into the room. Gary felt something in him deflate when he saw her; Ash's mom would know what to do, because moms always did. He watched as she passed a hand over her son's face, talking softly to him, before she started to pull the soaked pajamas off his skinny frame.

"Gary, you too." she instructed when she caught him staring. "The tub is big enough for both of you." He didn't object. She left the room at a run to fill the tub as he pulled the oversize T-shirt over his head, letting it drop to the floor with only muted relief.

Ash lay curled in a corner, away from the contaminated sheets. His arms were wrapped close to his body, trying to preserve what little heat his delusioned mind thought he had left, but at least he seemed to no longer be seeing things that weren't there. Gary carefully crawled over the soaked bedding, wanting to talk to him in that quiet voice the way his mother had, only to find when he got there that he didn't know what to say.

Not a moment too soon, Mrs. Ketchum was back. She scooped up her son in her arms, ignoring his weak protests, and carried him gently but quickly out of the room. The auburn-haired boy hurried after him, glad to be away from the putrid smell.

Ash had been fairly quiet since his mother had taken charge of him. The second his toes touched the water, however, he let out a loud whimper of dismay and tried to cling to her. "No…"

"Shh, shh, it's all right," she soothed, gently disengaging his weakened arms and settling him against the rear of the tub. Seeing this reaction, Gary was cautious as he stepped in himself, expecting the water to be too hot. To his surprise, it was almost pleasantly cool, and he turned a questioning gaze to the woman as she wiped a cloth over her son's face and chest.

"It's the fever," she explained softly, brushing damp black hair from Ash's eyes; he had sunk back against the tub, as limp as a doll, looking moderately more at ease. "He thinks the water is cold, but it's because he's so hot. The poor thing, his body's all confused..."

Gary watched her, remembering how the smaller boy had tossed in his sleep, muttering to himself. He wondered if he should tell her how Ash had woken him up with his cries for his father. But as he looked up and caught sight of her face in the bathroom light, and saw the creases of worry around her eyes and mouth as she bathed her son, trying to purge his body of the excess heat, and decided never to mention it to her.

After being removed from the bathtub, Ash was promptly wrapped in a towel ("so that he doesn't catch a chill," his mother said). and carried to the couch. He had calmed down considerably, and much of the heat that had flushed his body was gone. She propped his head up on one of the larger pillows and placed a bucket nearby in case the nausea came back.

Gary knew, just from the way she looked at him, that she was going to try to send him back to bed, and so he gave her his best rebellious look in return, to convey he wasn't going to go. She smiled sadly and just told him to wait while she went to make a quick phone call. And so he curled up in an armchair, not really caring that the fresh new set of pajamas he'd gotten from Ash's bottom dresser drawer were slightly too small for him. He just sat there, staring at his friend, wondering if he was going to be okay.

And then he wondered if maybe…just maybe…this was his fault.

After all…he'd been the one who started the fight at dinner, hadn't he? It wasn't Ash's fault he liked to eat so much, was it?

He could hear Mrs. Ketchum's soft voice coming from the kitchen, her feet thumping on the linoleum floor as she paced, talking to a faceless someone on the other line. But she was too far away for Gary to hear her words, and after a few minutes of straining to hear her better, he remembered that his grandpa had told him it was bad to eavesdrop, so he turned his gaze back to the unmoving bundle on the couch.

If this really _was_ his fault…

Slowly, he climbed out of the chair.

When you did something that wasn't nice…and this _definitely _wasn't nice…you were supposed to…

He was right beside the couch now. Ash was curled closely around the little bucket, facing away from him, the way he had been when they had first gone to sleep.

The older boy bent closer. Close enough to catch a faint scent of the shampoo Ash's mother had used to wash his hair, but hopefully not close enough to wake him.

"I'm sorry I called you a pig..."

And then he pulled back, because he'd said what he wanted to say.

He tried to pull back, anyway. He didn't get very far, because a sad, tired little voice murmured his name, and so he felt it was really better to just stay there.

Because…really…no one should be alone when they're sick.


End file.
